


Your Touch Makes Me Feel Like I Am More Than Skin

by parliamentofowls



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Curses, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-06-02 03:54:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19433407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parliamentofowls/pseuds/parliamentofowls
Summary: “That’s not the point, Clarke’, Bellamy said finally staring her directly in the eye, ‘I could have killed you. You should be dead and for some miraculous, unfathomable reason, you’re not. But that doesn’t mean I might not hurt you next time. So don’t ask me if I’m okay.  I don’t deserve your forgiveness or your pity”.Bellamy is cursed with the ability to kill people when he touches them with his bare hands. Clarke happens to be immune to magic. Bellamy only discovers this when he accidentally touches Clarke. In the aftermath, Clarke comforts him.





	Your Touch Makes Me Feel Like I Am More Than Skin

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys.  
> This is my first fanfiction, so I really hope you enjoy.  
> I welcome any constructive criticism or advice. 
> 
> Just an additional note, I have tagged this as an urban fantasy and whilst this is some mention of curses and magic, it really won't satisfy your craving if that is the storyline you are after. It really is more of a comfort/romance fic. 
> 
> Thanks :)

Clarke paused outside Bellamy’s door, her hand poised to knock. She had spent the last six hours tossing and turning in bed, sleep a foreign country. All she could think about was Bellamy’s head in his hands, the words ‘ _I’m a monster_ ’ ringing in her ears. Six months ago, she wouldn’t have shed a tear over Bellamy Blake’s wellbeing, but as her sleeplessness only proved, he was now one of the most important people in her life.

Still, she hesitated. He might be asleep. He might not want to speak to her. He might not even be in the house. There were so many possibilities, so many reasons to just go back to bed and pretend the last twelve hours hadn’t even happened.

But this was Bellamy. Her person, the man she trusted most in the world, the guy who sat next to her all night after one of her patients died and laugh whenever she came back from one of her family’s gatherings tired and drained. She had complete faith in him, even if he had lost it in himself long ago.

She raised her hand to knock.

“Clarke?”

Clarke jumped, Bellamy seeming to come out of nowhere. “ _Christ_ ”.

“Sorry’, he apologised, sitting back in the armchair, ‘I didn’t mean to frighten you”.

“It’s okay’, Clarke said, coming into the living room, ‘what are you doing up so late?”

Bellamy ran his fingers through his hair absent-mindedly. “I wanted to get through some business emails”.

“At 4AM?”

“Couldn’t sleep”, he said, avoiding her gaze, ‘may as well be up doing things”.

“Fair enough. I thought I’d clean out the cupboard under the stairs”.

“You might need several decades for that, I don’t think it’s been touched for as many years”.

“Alright then. I wanted to talk to you”.

Bellamy slammed the lid of his laptop down. “Don’t joke”.

He seemed to regret his outburst almost immediately.

“I’m sorry. It’s just---don’t joke about it”.

Clarke folded her arms and sat down on the couch, diagonally opposite him.

“I’m not joking, Bellamy. I wanted to know if you were okay”.

He drummed his fingers against the top of his laptop and for the first time, Clarke found herself staring at his uncovered hands. She had made the mistake of asking him about why he wore gloves when they had first met and he had got so defensive that when Octavia had come back up the stairs with another moving box, they were in the midst of a blazing row.

For the first couple of months, she never brought up the gloves again, instead exercising her natural curiosity by observing his interactions with other people. Bellamy rarely let anyone near him, shying away from handshakes, hugs, even flinching whenever a stranger accidentally brushed past him. The only person he ever really smiled around was Octavia and once, Miller, after a particularly vicious round of beer pong against Murphy and Emori.

But later, as they had become friends, she had begun to unravel his story, piece by piece. Bellamy had been raised by his single mother, moving from town to town as she tried to search for something he couldn’t never quite see himself. When his sister was born, Aurora tried to find that something in a charismatic but violent man. Until today, that was all Bellamy had ever told her about his family.

“I should be asking you that”.

Clarke raised her hands. “I’m fine. Really. You don’t need to beat yourself up about it”.

“That’s not the point, Clarke’, Bellamy said finally staring her directly in the eye, ‘I could have _killed_ you. You should be dead and for some miraculous, unfathomable reason, you’re not. But that doesn’t mean I might not hurt you next time. So don’t ask me if _I’m okay_. I don’t deserve your forgiveness or your pity”.

He hadn’t been able to look at her as he told her the rest of his story. Bellamy promised himself that he would protect his sister no matter what and asked a witch to give him the ability to protect her. When the witch asked him what he was prepared to give up, he had replied ‘anything’. And so, he found himself cursed with the ability to kill anyone his bare hands touched.

He had kept this part of him hidden from everyone, except Octavia. He probably wouldn’t have even told Clarke if it wasn’t for the accident this morning. She had heard him shout from his bathroom and it had been enough to send her flying into his bedroom to see if he was alright. As she flung open the door, he sped out, the shock of seeing an overgrown tarantula morphing into terror as his bare hands grabbed hold of her shoulders.

She would never forget the look in his eyes as he staggered backwards, his face horrified and stripped of colour. Nor the fact he had slid down the wall and spent the next five minutes staring at her with trepidation as she tried to assure him that everything was okay.

Bellamy got up suddenly, breaking her reverie. “I need to go”.

Clarke was already standing up in front of him. He froze so suddenly that she regretted her swiftness. “You can’t hurt me”.

“I don’t want to hurt you. It’s not the same thing”.

“I meant what I said. Your touch can’t kill me”.

Bellamy gave a sharp intake of breath, his eyes never leaving hers. She saw within them so much despair and terror and fear but she also saw longing and hope. He didn’t want to believe her but at the same time, he so desperately needed to. She took a step towards him, keeping her gaze firm and calm.

“Powers like yours----they have no effect on me. I am immune. The women in my family can’t be touched by magic”.

Clarke took another step but this time, he shook his head, sinking to the floor and clasping his face in his hands. “ _Don’t_ ”.

Clarke wanted to hold him but she didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. Instead, she sat down on the floor a metre away from him and crossed her legs. “I’m sorry, Bellamy. You don’t deserve this”.

He didn’t say anything. They sat in silence for a couple of minutes, the clock on the mantelpiece slowly ticking away.

“You were a complete dick when I first met you’, she said after a while, ‘you called me a privileged princess who should mind her own business. Even though it was a perfectly normal thing to question why someone would wear gloves in the middle of summer”.

“I can’t believe you are bringing that up now”, Bellamy said, looking up from his hands. She gazed at him mildly.

“Well, you were a dick and I instantly regretted renting out my spare room. Even though you had a hot sister and a really nice coffee machine”.

“Thanks”.

“I spent the first three months wondering if my mother had sent you to annoy me enough to move back home”.

“Is this you trying to comfort me or is this just your idea of small talk?”

“I definitely have a point to this story”.

“Is it that I’m a monster who doesn’t deserve love? Because frankly princess, I’m already aware”.

Clarke felt her heart break for him. He truly thought he was undeserving of any type of love or affection because of his gift. “No. Bellamy, I didn’t like you at first. That’s no secret. But even then, I could see how much you cared, how deeply you loved. You protected Octavia her entire life, you made sure she was safe and happy when your mother couldn’t. You _deserve_ to be happy as well”.

He was silent. For a moment, the only noise in the room was the sound of their breathing. Then, Clarke slowly reached out her hand, leaving it suspended between the middle of them. Bellamy stared down at it, a terrified expression on his face.

“It’s okay’, Clarke said softly, ‘you can’t hurt me”. 

His hand moved then, almost as if it was controlled by an external force. It hovered for a moment, his fingers twitching with nervous energy. She wanted to reach out to him, break the stalemate but she couldn’t be the one to make the first move. Bellamy took a deep breath and then suddenly, laced his fingers through Clarke’s. His hands were large but his grasp was careful and light, enveloping hers in its warmth. He was staring at her closely, drinking her in, his face pale and tentative. She smiled at him reassuringly and he relaxed slightly, dropping his gaze down to their entwined hands. After a moment of silence, Clarke said

“How does it feel?”

“Like…a hand, really”.

“Oh my god’, Clarke said laughing, the tension suddenly gone, ‘way to ruin the moment”.

“Well, you’re the one acting like it should be some god-tier experience”.

“Are you saying that my hands aren’t god-tier?”

“I don’t think either of us could cope if you also had insane magical hands as well”

They both broke off into peals of laughter, setting each other off every time their eyes caught. Eventually, they broke off, panting slightly. Clarke grinned at Bellamy, who looked remarkably calmer than he had all day.

“Thank you, Clarke” he said.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anything”.

“Have you ever touched a woman before?” Clarke asked curiously.

Bellamy started spluttering, clearly not expecting the question and let go of her hand. She immediately missed the feeling.

“Jesus, Clarke. What kind of question is that?”

“You did say anything”.

He rubbed his temples. “I was thinking more in the territory of favourite colour or latest binge watch”.

Clarke waved his comment aside. “Periwinkle blue. 7 Wonders Of The Industrial World. I know you pretty well, Bellamy Blake”.

Bellamy was looking at her as if he had just discovered the answer to a particularly puzzling question. She ducked her head awkwardly and said

“Look, I apologise if the question is too personal. It isn’t my place to pry”.

She stood up quickly, blushing slightly but Bellamy was already moving with her. She gazed up at him, their bodies inches away from each other.

“A couple”.

“What?” she said breathlessly, her mind suddenly empty.

“I’ve been with a couple of women’, Bellamy said softly, ‘but I was never able to touch them the way I wanted”.

His eyes had darkened, dropping down to her lips. Without thinking, she moved her hands up to his face, tracing the outline of his cheek. Bellamy gave a sharp intake of breath and she paused, her fingers lightly resting on his chest.

“What do you want, Bellamy?”

Bellamy groaned, almost imperceptibly. “I just want you to know….I loved you before I knew I could have you”.

Clarke felt her heart drop then swoop back up, racing harder than ever.

“Well then”, she said and took hold of his left hand, lifting it up to her cheek. Bellamy’s hand was warm against her cold cheek and his touch tingled against her skin. He brought his other hand up to her head and cupped her face. Slowly, he bent his head down and kissed her forehead, lingering for a couple of moments.

He looked back down at her, searching her face for an answer of some kind. Clarke smiled, and he kissed her cheek, slowly and cautiously. His right hand slid down her face and lifted her chin up, gazing into her eyes.

“Do you trust me?” he asked, his voice shaking slightly.

Clarke stood up on her tiptoes and kissed him, her hands bunched up in his shirt. It was a slow kiss, calm and careful.

“Without question” she said.

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into his chest, nestling his face into her hair. As they stood there, a chink of sunlight broke across the horizon and danced across the living room.


End file.
